


The Love Song of J. Hamish Watson

by ItsTeatimeSomewhere



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - College/University, Fun right?, Lots of Drugs, M/M, Overdosing, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2012-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-20 01:19:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsTeatimeSomewhere/pseuds/ItsTeatimeSomewhere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Entry for Johnlockchallenges on Tumblr (gift for notsosilentwallflower :)<br/>Original Prompt: John follows Sherlock into addiction.</p><p>John is lost. He needs something to fill his empty life, a life so dull now that the only thing worth living for has left him behind. How far will he go to make his life happy once more?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Love Song of J. Hamish Watson

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy! 
> 
> For those of you reading my other stories, I promise I'll continue, I'm just taking a teeny break :)

The Love Song of J. Hamish Watson

.oOo.

**Introduction**

John Watson used to be incredibly charming. During his first year at Manchester, he made multitudes of friends, had a constant string of girlfriends, and held up incredible grades. He would greet any acquaintance in the hall and give compliments to utter strangers; it wasn't creepy, it was simply the fact that he enjoyed bringing smiles to people's faces. He was well liked, popular, and didn't abuse his power. Indeed, it was very hard to find someone who didn't like John Watson.

So if John was the king, Sherlock Holmes was the town fool. Similar to John, his name was well known, yet while John's came with fond memories and smiles, Sherlock's elicited feelings of resentment and annoyance. Everyone knew the odd name and the odd boy who went with it. Sherlock could take one look at you and spill all your dirty little secrets. Normally, one wouldn't care, yet Sherlock took a passion to spreading the truth of all of his classmates. He spoke of affairs and adulterers, drug users and alcoholics, and even, on one memorable occaison, a murderer. But it wasn't simply the words he said, it was the condescending style with which he spoke them. Sherlock would spit out the vile words and walk away as if you were nothing but scum on his shoe. He didn't get close to anyone, and no one tried hard enough to get close to him.

Well, almost no one.

There was one boy. His name was Victor Trevor. Similarly, Victor's name was often dragged through the mud simply because he was a drug dealer. He never took the drugs he sold and got average grades, but people still avoided him. Being Sherlock's main supplier, he formed a close connection with the outcast, but never got to see inside the genius. Victor was quiet and benign, and nothing you could say would provoke him.

So. John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, and Victor Trevor. A Popular, an outcast, and a dealer. These three boys, when thrown together in a string of the most unfortunate events would change each other's lives forever. This is their story.

  
**Sanctity**

_And I have known the eyes already, known them all—_   
_The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,_   
_And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,_   
_When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,_   
_Then how should I begin_   
_To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways_   
_And how should I presume?_   


.oOo.

**Testimonies from Bill Murray, a close friend of John Watson's**

"They started going out in the middle of second year. So it goes, they were partners in a Sociology class and had to do a report on human behaviour. After working together for so long, John must have broken down Holmes' walls and gotten through to him. Somehow, someway, they began to fall in love. It became unusual to see one without the other. People called them 'Frick and Frack' and 'Bonnie and Clyde'. John seemed happier in Holmes' presence, and vice versa; Holmes didn't antagonise as many people with John around. Overall, it was satisfactory for everyone.

"One day they began to hold hands, and Sally caught them kissing in the hallway. It was odd, but no one was really surprised. It was as if they had merged seamlessly, and no one gave a rat's arse. It was compleately natural.

"Life was peaceful for a few of months. I've never seen John happier. His smiles were glowing and he had this light in his eyes that made me envy what they had. It was beautiful. "But then, everything went to hell. And it went incredibly fast. I heard them having a row downstairs, and voices became angrier and angrier, louder and louder. I heard a door slam shut and John burst into tears. I tried to go to sleep, hoping everything would be worked out by morning.

"That was the night Sherlock Holmes overdosed on the lethal mixture of Heroin and Cocaine known as speedball, and the night Sherlock Holmes breathed his last breath."

.oOo.

**Desolation**

  
_And would it have been worth it, after all,_   
_After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,_   
_Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,_   


**Excerpt from the Diary of John Watson**

People were noticing me. I could feel it. I didn't like it. It felt as if they were trying to pry me open, to wring me out dry. The feeling of being flayed alive never seemed to leave me these days. It only took the simplest, smallest, things to set me off. I would fly into a blinding rage at the sight of a teacup or begin to sob at the mention of a necktie. My emotions were utterly out of my control, and it seemed as if the devil enjoyed toying with me until I was utterly spent. I collapsed each night on my bed, hoping for some significant amount of rest, only to be kept up half the night trying to shy away from the nightmares.

People say I was too emotionally invested in him. They say it's "unhealthy" to carry such strong emotion at my age. They tell me I need to move on, to get over him and what the put me through.

They just don't get that it's impossible to move on from your life.

I was so alone when I met him. Of course, I didn't actually realise it until I met him. He was the turning point in my life. It was as if I was merely squinting my way through life before I met him. He made me a better person.

I shuffle through life, pretending that I'm okay. I go to classes, do well on test, and eat three square meals a day. I shower and go to rugby, yet I am an empty shell of the boy I once was.

Mike and Bill still invite me to visit the pubs with them, and sometimes I even accept. I always leave early and never finish the full round. I'll mention an essay or a worksheet that is due and they'll give me that pitying look, the one I hate so much. I will simple apologise and rush out. Nothing changed.

I hate it. I hate that I can't move on, that I can't get over this damn crush! I know it wasn't a crush, though. I know it was more than that. It was something more than anyone can imagine, and I would give anything to have it--him--back.

People often talk to me about how he was bad. Yes, he did drugs, and yes, he used often. I avoided that part of him. He would visit me with his pupils dilated and bouncing off the walls and I would simply sigh and giggle as he tried to put a complicated experiment together. He would be gone for days at a time and all I would have to do was send a quick text to Victor making sure he had simply had a bad trip and needed to crash for a while. People assumed I would be the one to change him, to "fix" him, but I couldn't, even if I wanted to. He was his own person, and he made his own decisions. I wasn't about to break up something as beautiful as what we had for some stupid chemicals.

I understood, of course, that the outcome in the future would be a bad one. Though apparently, past me was more concerned with the present, and for good reason. Life seemed perfect. It's a shame all good things come to an end.

**Wonder**

  
_Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,_   
_Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?_   


**Recording from an interview with Victor Trevor**

"It was about three months after Sherlock's passing that John approached me for the first time. He used to want nothing to do with me, and even though he never said it out loud I knew he blamed me for Sherlock's addiction. But I blame myself.

"He would call me occasionally, hoping for some sort of verification that Sherlock was alive, and I tried to be as gentle as possible. But really, how gently can you say 'oh, yeah, your boyfriend's crashing on my couch after he took a bit too much of the coke I sold him'. It's hard, I'll tell you that. I respected John, of course. He not only put up with Sherlock, but seemed to genuinely get the man. I knew Sherlock, but I don't pretend that I knew him. No one knew Sherlock like John.

"Anyway, John came up to me and started asking me all sorts of questions about snow. At first, I thought it was some sort of need to find out how Sherlock had been, maybe dig deeper into his psyche, yet the questions got weirder and weirder. Prices, amounts, shelf-life...the crazy stuff. I gave him as much information as I dared, and he seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say. But soon, I figured out where he was going.

"' You want some,' I said one day as we were walking along the quad. He didn't deny this statement, simply nodded grimly. 'Maybe I've missed something, Victor. I mean, his life was so much better than mine. He was a genius, and maybe whatever he took will help me get my life back on track.' He gave me a helpless smile and in that moment I saw a man whose last resort was here, but I still turned him down.

"Of course, I wasn't going to give him any; only an idiot would do that. I hated drugs, and never took them myself. It was simply a business opportunity I happened to take advantage of. The money paid for my mum and sister, and kept me at school. I didn't like poisoning the kids, but it was the only way I could get by. I would give some to almost anyone, save a select few. One of those, of course, was John Watson. "'C'mon, Victor. Just a little. I'll pay full price...'

"'No, John. I can't sell you any.'

"His face dropped, and I immediately felt terrible, but I held my ground. I'd already killed Sherlock, and I wasn't about to let John follow him. John was somebody who deserved the best life possible, and I'd be damned if I helped him end it.

"I was no fool, I knew John would eventually overdose; he would find it poetic to follow Sherlock in that way. He was so attached to that idiot, it made me want to bring Sherlock back just so I could kill him for what he did to John.

"John's shoulders slumped and he began to walk away, then stopped. 'I understand, Vic, I really do. I just...' He turned back to me, his face drawn and pale. 'I can't go on like this much longer. I keep thinking that maybe this will help me forget. It would help the pain go away.'

"I held my ground, and he simply nodded and left. However, I wasn't out of the woods yet. He returned every day, bringing new arguments about why I should sell him some. He offered obscene amounts of money and on one occasion, came spectacularly drunk and offered sex.

"I immediately made it clear I was not gay.

"I'm not proud of it, but eventually I caved. I gave him a small amount--for free, I wasn't about to take his money too--and watched him walk away, a sinking feeling in my heart. Something was going to happen, and I had just pushed John Watson down the slippery slope."

**Full**

  
_I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,_   
_And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,_   
_And in short, I was afraid._   


.oOo.

**Excerpt from the Diary of John Watson**

How can I describe it, the rush it gave me. It was as if I was whole again. It was as if he was still beside me.

The first time, I was hesitant. I held the needle in my hand for minutes before I plunged it into my vein. He always took it through needle; he complained about how slow the reaction was through snorting. His logic was good enough for me.

There was a pinprick of the needle and then the rush of liquid flowing through my vein. Neurons began firing and I felt the sudden rush of dopamine from my brain. I felt euphoric for the first time since His death. I finished some coursework and even set about cleaning up the flat. I avoided His room, of course. Even with this rush I wasn't ready to go in there.

That night, I dreamed of him.

_I was sitting in the flat, reading over one of my textbooks when he came rushing in. "John!" he cried, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. "What are you doing here? There's a case to be solved!"_

  
_"_ _Sherlock, I've got work to do-"_   


  
_"_ _Yes, yes, I'll finish it for you later. Right now, we've got to catch Lewis! He's booked for the 1215 departure, and we'll never find him once he's out of the country!"_   


_I groaned, but got up. "Fine, let me get my coat."_

_"Brilliant!" He pressed a quick and passionate kiss to my lips, cupping my face with his hands. "Five minutes?"_

_I smiled and nodded._

I woke up abruptly, my mind filling with sorrow as I realised the dream was nothing more than an implant by my imagination. The subconscious was a cruel place.

The high I had felt yesterday made me yearn for more. I hated coming down from it because everything felt slow and dreary, but I needed more. If the drugs gave me more of those dreams in place of the usual nightmares, I would be content.

I contacted Victor again and he handed off another small baggie with a look of apprehension. After promising I wasn't trying to off myself (I was actually trying to save myself) he let me go.

I rushed home, eager to experience the high once more. Injecting the liquid, I lay back and let my mind fill with pleasurable thoughts of Him. I remembered the way his eyes lit up when I complimented him, and the vulnerable look when he knew he did something wrong, but didn't want me to find out. I remembered the warmth of our intertwined hands and bodies as well as the glorious feeling of running my hands through his curls.

It was like an old man reliving his glory days, only to find out they were simply dreams. The crash was harder, and I felt the gnawing depression sink back in. The all-encompassing pain and destitude I found myself in.

That night, the dreams weren't as nice. I was plagued with memories from the dreadful night, the night everything went to hell.

When I lost myself.

When we fought like never before.

When I told him I never wanted to see him again.

When he killed himself through Intentional Overdose of Cocaine.

I woke up terrified, tears mixing with the sweat on my face. With a sob, I buried my head in my hands, hoping for some solace from this dark world.

None came, so I felt back into a fitful sleep once more.

I contacted Victor the next day, hoping for more. The meagre amount I had been given in the past was no longer enough. I needed more. I needed to feel the fullness in my mind and body. I needed to feel whole once more.

He gave it to me, the poor boy, and I was once again ushered into the beauty and simplicity of life under the influence. My scattered mind was organised and any painful thoughts were banished with fevour. I began to notice people again, except this time they would give me wary smiles rather than sypathetic ones. It was as if they had noticed that I was changing, and wished to speak to me once more.

I talked again, and began to visit classes. Once, I even went to the pub with Bill and Mike. However, I was forced to leave as a blonde girl began to flirt with me. I wasn't ready for that, even with my mind cleared by coke.

I doubted I would never be ready.

It was about a month after I had first spoken to Victor that I came to the conclusion that not even cocaine could help me anymore. The highs eventually became so dull that I needed more. I needed that adrenaline and dopamine that only He could provide. So, I came to my decision. I would have to join him.

I would join my Sherlock.

I knew, of course, that Victor would never give me enough to overdose on, but I vowed to save every bit he gave me until I had enough.

It took me less than two weeks.

I've written out my note, making sure my handwriting was neat and clean. It would do no good for people to not understand it due to my normally illegible scrawl. I was feeling strangely calm as I put down my pen and locked the doors to the flat. It is time.

I turned on an old recording of His music as I mixed the perfect ratio of cocaine to water. I smiled as I stirred and poured it into the syringe. I took it into His room, opening the door for the first time since He'd left. It was dark and dusty, but the covers of his bed still held his unique scent.

I lay down, letting myself become enveloped in the essence of Him. I pushed the syringe into my arm and was filled with the beauty for the last time.

My last coherent thought was of the text he had sent me minutes before he died.

_Remember, you made my life a happy one, and there is not tragedy in that. -SH_

He completed me, and all that was left for me in this world was gone. It was my time to go, and soon I would be with him once more.

**Closure**

  
_There will be time for you and time for me,_   
_And time yet for a hundred indecisions,_   
_And for a hundred visions and revisions,_   
_Before the taking of a toast and tea_   


.oOo.

**Suicide Letter from John H. Watson**

It is time that I go, and I believe most of you know that already.

He was my best friend, my beautiful lover, and my kind caretaker all wrapped up in one. With him, my life was compleated and I was happy. truly, entirely happy.

I believe you all know how I was after he had left. I blamed myself (I still do) for it was because of me that we fought. I will never forgive myself for driving him to that.

But do not blame yourselves. You all tried to hard to make my life worth while once more. Bill, I thank you and Mike for trying to make me smile, and Victor, thank you for helping me. Don't push yourself, mate. I've left some money for you and Ashley. Hope you do all right.

Mum and Dad, I wish you'd had the chance to meet Sherlock. He was an enigma I never truly figured out, and I think Dad would have liked to play chess with him. I forgive you for your past mistakes if you can forgive me for mine. Say hello to Harry for me.

Thank you for making life worth living, and I'm sorry to leave you in this way. But in the end, this is best for us all. He and I will be together, and that's all that matters.

Goodbye, John.

.oOo.

  
_We have lingered in the chambers of the sea_   
_By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown_   
_Till human voices wake us, and we drown._   


-Quotes from "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T.S. Eliot.


End file.
